For many years I struggled with fear. You name it, I was afraid of it. As a little girl, I was afraid of shadows, the booger man, stepping on cracks. If it could be imagined, I was afraid of it. As I matured, my fears continued, growing more serious and more debilitating. In my middle twenties, there were days I didn’t want to get out of bed. I remember thinking that God must be angry with me. I felt as if no matter what I did, I couldn’t please him. Reading the Bible and claiming scripture was helpful, as was talking to the few family members and friends I trusted with my silent fears. However, I really didn’t want others to know about my crippling thoughts. On the outside, I looked like I had perfect control of my life. On the inside, I was a complete mess. Sometimes I didn’t want my life to go on. I went on like this for quite a few years. Sometimes the bouts of fear would subside and at other times, I was as fearful as ever. I kept praying, hoping and seeking help. Why the help I needed evaded me, I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready to accept the help.
What I did come to realize over the years was that a lot of my fear issues stemmed from an actual illness. It was called obsessive compulsive disorder or OCD. My illness manifested itself by my excessive worry over a certain issue or subject until I found some way to relieve the stress. For instance, for months I might worry about having cancer in a certain part of my body or I might worry that I was going to say something that would be offensive to someone. I might worry constantly about the safety of my family or if I had a random thought, no matter how outrageous it was if it passed through my mind, I’d begin to worry about it. Things other people would shake off or even laugh about, would become an obsessive fear in my mind and it would dominate my thoughts. At times, my life was hellish. The only thing that kept me going was God. I knew He loved me, had a plan for me and ultimately would take these fears and worries out of my life. I believed this with every fiber of my being.
To make matters worse and to add my angst, I felt a great deal of shame with my constant fears. I felt as if I was a “bad” Christian and a failure.
One day, while at work, I decided I’d simply had enough. I couldn’t and wouldn’t continue to live this way any longer. So after years of struggling and at the age of 42, I called my husband, told him to come pick me up and asked him to take me to the doctor. Not knowing, where to begin, I went to my family doctor. When I explained to him what I’d been going through for years, he looked at me and said very simply and very matter of factly, “Jane, you have OCD.” I remember feeling an initial sense of relief because he confirmed to me I wasn’t crazy but sick. And what I had actually had a name and a treatment. But the struggle wasn’t quite over, not quite.
The doctor prescribed medication and in my case, it was Prozac and sent me home, advising me to call a counselor to help me learn to manage my symptoms. So, I did. At first, I was very resistant to taking Prozac or any type of antidepressant. I still had the nagging worry that I couldn’t be much of a Christian and live my life medicated. When I got home that day, I called a family counselor who was also a dear Christian friend. I talked over my situation with him and he asked me this: “Jane, if the doctor had told you today you were a diabetic, would you take the insulin?”
“Well, of course I would! That’s a physical illness!” I stated.
To which my counselor friend said, “And what do you think OCD is? OCD is a physical illness, too and it’s located in your brain. Take the medicine. Have you prayed for healing?” my wise friend asked.
“Yes, I have and in fact, I prayed this morning for healing.”
My friend said, “Don’t you think this may be God answering your prayer?”
I remember feeling like a light had suddenly come on in a very dark room. I took the medicine and I can promise you this, my life has never been the same. Yes, I occasionally have bouts of worry and fear but these bouts are manageable now because my brain is no longer in a state of what I call hiccups. The medicine I take controls the chemicals in my brain that caused my cycles of worry and fear.
Someone once said to me that they couldn’t believe how open I am about having OCD and being on Prozac. To which I had to say, “There is nothing Jesus and Prozac can’t handle!” You see, what Satan meant to destroy me with, God is using to bring glory to Himself!
You may be struggling with the same thing I was or it may be something different. My prayer for you is that you will turn it over to Jesus, who is the great physician. He may not heal you in the way YOU think He will or should but He will heal you. He wants you to have abundant life!
